


Solace

by Arbryna



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gentle Sex, One Shot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dyson is grateful for the distraction Tamsin keeps offering him; he just can't figure out what's in it for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV, prompts: _partners, kiss, tender, bed_

He’s not in love with her. That’s not what this is about.

They both know it, the same as they both know she’s not interested in his _heart_.

It’s hard to know just what she _is_ interested in, though. His motives have been clear; seeking solace and distraction as he mourns the loss of Bo’s love. What Tamsin is doing, aside from going above and beyond to help a friend—a partner—in need, he can’t say for sure.

Whatever it is, she wears it close to the vest—but he’s noticed things. Little things, like how she never has her eyes open when she leans in to kiss him, how she’ll ride him to the edge of exhaustion and still never linger long enough for the sweat to cool, how she always seems both angry and guilty when they’re done. How no matter how many times they do this, it never gets any less fraught with urgent, desperate need.

Like now. She’s on him as soon as he opens the door, scratching her nails across his scalp as she tugs him down for a kiss.

“Well hello to you too,” Dyson chuckles into her lips, dropping his hands to her hips to steady her as she kicks the door shut.

She pulls back, gives him a _look_. “Pleasantries? Really?”

And she’s dragging him down again, pressing herself flush against his bare chest. He opens his mouth to her tongue, steps backward at her urging, but when his legs collide with the edge of his bed he pushes back.

“You’re always in such a hurry,” he murmurs. She presses forward, tries to reclaim his mouth; he fights the urge to smirk as he pulls just out of her reach.

“What’s the matter?” Tamsin asks, her voice dripping with wry sarcasm. She pokes her lower lip out in a mockery of a pout, toys with the button of his jeans. “Your little wolf pup too tired to come out and play?”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “No.” Quite the opposite, in fact; his jeans are uncomfortably tight. “But I can be patient sometimes.”

Tamsin rolls her eyes. “Patient is boring.”

She drags him back down to her, sucks hard at his lower lip. He lets her push him down onto the bed this time, sliding his hands onto her hips as she straddles him. Her thighs squeeze at his waist as she leans back to strip off her shirt; she tosses it aside without a glance, rolls her hips as she presses the length of her torso against his own. Then she’s all soft skin and sharp teeth and searing kisses, her fingers clawing at his scalp to urge him down the same path they always seem to follow whenever this happens.

It’s like she’s trying to get it over with. Dyson frowns at the thought. She wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to—he knows her well enough to know _that_ —but she never seems to enjoy it, not really.

Holding tight to her hips, Dyson flips them over on the bed. Tamsin grins, hard and encouraging, as he lowers his mouth to her neck, but he can feel the grin fade as he trails slow, thorough kisses along the soft skin. He barely makes it to her shoulder before she shudders and tugs at his hair, kissing him with a passion that’s obvious in its exaggeration. There’s a tremor in her fingers as they rake down his chest, hook under the waistband of his jeans. He catches her wrist before she can work the button free.

She pulls her hand out of his grip, tries again, but he catches her a second time. She jerks against his hold, growls. “Come _on_.”

“Tamsin—”

“Fine.” She pushes at his shoulders until he drops onto the bed beside her. “You know what? I’m out of here.”

Dyson stops her at the edge of the bed with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She tenses under his touch.

“I can’t do this, Dyson,” she admits, the frustration and anger in her voice bleeding into exhaustion and hurt.

“Can’t do what?” he asks, quiet and encouraging.

Tamsin draws a ragged breath, looking down at her hands. “Feel.”

Something rises in Dyson’s chest, something warm and fierce and affectionate. He shifts to sit next to her, tucking a finger under her chin so he can catch her gaze. “It’s okay to _feel_ , Tamsin.”

She shakes her head, eyes glittering with moisture and conviction. “No, no it’s not. I can’t. I’m—I have to be strong, I have to h-help he—” Panic flashes across her features, settling into guilt as she jerks her chin out of his grip and looks away.

“Help who?” Dyson asks gently. His hand settles against her back, and he can feel her heart pounding beneath his palm. She doesn’t answer, but as the seconds tick by he realizes the answer is ridiculously obvious.

 _Her._ Bo. Of course it’s Bo. It always comes back to her.

Dyson looks inside himself, tries to find that burning shard of jealousy that always used to pierce his gut at the thought of someone else wanting Bo. He can’t find it. Maybe it’s because Tamsin stands about as much chance as anyone with Bo right now—zero—or maybe he really is starting to get over her.

Whatever the reason, he can only muster up a deep, profound empathy. “Tamsin,” he says softly, sliding his hand over a damp cheek, urging her to look at him. “It’s okay.”

His words almost seem to have the opposite of the desired effect; fresh tears spill down her face, colliding with his hand and meandering down along the outline of his hand. Her brow is knit tightly together, her chin trembling, but there’s a tiny spark of something in her eyes, something that might be hope.

He moves slowly, giving her enough time to back away if she wants to; he’s almost surprised when his lips make contact with the salty-wet skin of her cheek. He brushes the tears from her other cheek as he moves to press a kiss into her forehead.

When he tries to capture her mouth, she catches his shoulder, holding him at arms’ length. There’s a different kind of guilt in her eyes now, a worry that he recognizes as the one that was undoubtedly in his own when she started this whole thing between them.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a smirk, his breath brushing against her lips as he chuckles. “I’m not asking you to fall in love with me.”

Relief is visible in the slight curve of her mouth, in the relaxed sag of her shoulders. “Good,” she says, sniffling as she nudges him with her shoulder. “’Cause I don’t care how housebroken you are, I am not a dog person.”

“Ouch,” Dyson teases, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Come on, we have our good qualities.”

“I don’t know…” Her nose wrinkles skeptically, and there’s a twinkle of mischief in her eyes that Dyson is glad to see. “I can’t seem to think of any.”

A grin comes easily to his lips as he quirks an eyebrow. “Maybe you just need a reminder.”

She sets her jaw, a delicate challenge in steel-blue eyes. He moves to kneel on the floor between her legs, sliding his hands up to her bare waist as he leans in for a kiss.

Tamsin is hesitant at first, like she’s learning how to do this all over again—and now that Dyson thinks of it, maybe she is—but she catches on to his rhythm soon enough. Her lips part under for his tongue, and he begins a languid exploration of her mouth as his fingers drift up to the clasp of her bra.

She flinches a bit at the flick of his wrist, curls in around the edges as he drags the garment down over her arms. She’s never seemed self-conscious with him before, but there’s something uncertain and fragile about the way she’s letting him take the lead.

“Relax,” Dyson murmurs into her mouth, rising up to guide her backward onto the bed. She scoots back at his urging, trembles and clenches her fists as he holds himself over her prone form. He ducks down to kiss her lips, her jaw, her ear. “It’s okay to enjoy this.”

When he pulls back, her eyes are shut tight. She tilts her head in a noncommittal nod, breathing in slow and shaky as her hands uncurl and settle at his shoulders. He smiles and takes a moment to press his lips to the palm of one, then moves back in to kiss his way down her neck.

A moan catches in her throat as he takes a pink nipple in his mouth, circles it with his tongue. She slides her hands back into his hair; for an instant he thinks she might be trying to take charge again, but her fingers only clench in his hair as he gently sucks.

Her hips jerk up against him, and his cock twitches in his pants. Tamsin isn’t the only one unaccustomed to this kind of slow burn; it’s been a long time since he’s had a good enough reason to drag it out. This, though—the shallow rasp of her breathing, the fragile spark of trust in her eyes—this is a good enough reason.

He works his way down her abdomen, tracing the outlines of her clenched muscles with his tongue as he works open the fly of her jeans. He can smell her already, sharp and sweet and potent; he wants to tear the rest of her clothes off, to sink into the slick heat that he knows awaits him.

Instead, he drags her jeans and underwear down her legs, pulls them off with her shoes and socks. Tamsin looks more vulnerable than Dyson has ever seen her, naked body trembling as she watches him move back onto the bed. He traces her hipbone with his tongue, slowly working his mouth along the edge of her thigh.

A growl rumbles in his throat when the tang of her arousal hits his tongue. She writhes under his touch, tugging once again at his hair—gently at first, then more firmly.

“Dyson,” she whimpers, barely audible.

When Dyson raises his head, the look of pleading urgency on her face sways him to take pity on her. He pushes himself off the bed again, unbuttoning his jeans as he makes his way to the nightstand. She rolls onto her side, curling in on herself a little as she watches him slide the condom on.

She lies back again as he crawls over her, opens her legs in invitation. He settles into the space between them, leans down to kiss her again, and she moans at the taste of herself on his beard.

Then he’s sliding into her, groaning as her heat wraps around him and clenches. He keeps his thrusts slow and even, determined not to ruin this experience with haste. His muscles ache with the effort to hold back.

Tamsin’s moans and grunts are getting more urgent, more frustrated; Dyson props himself up with one hand, snaking the other between her legs. His thumb rubs at her clit as he drives into her, a little harder now. Finally her nails bite into his shoulders, a strangled cry tears from her throat, and then all he’s aware of is her clenching around him. A few more strokes of his hips, and he’s gone.

When he catches his breath, Dyson opens his eyes to see Tamsin staring at the high ceiling of his loft. Her eyes are wet again, her chin trembling, but the tension that pulled at her not ten minutes ago has lost a lot of its sharpness. He smiles, presses a kiss into her lips before reaching down to pull himself out of her. He rolls over to dispose of the condom in a wastebasket by the bed; when he turns back, Tamsin looks like she’s gearing herself up to leave.

“You can stay,” Dyson says before she can try. “If you want.”

For a moment she looks conflicted, but finally she nods, eyes fixed on the sheets. Dyson situates himself on his back, holding an arm out for her to crawl into. She doesn’t look at him as she settles against his side, almost as though she’s ashamed. He wraps his arm around her, presses a kiss into the top of her head. “Is this okay?”

A moment passes before she burrows further into him. “Yeah,” she murmurs, tucking her head against his shoulder. She’s silent for a few seconds, and when she does speak again the words are hardly more than a breath. “Thank you.”

There’s an overwhelming depth of feeling in her voice, dominated mostly by self-conscious guilt. It hits him like a blow to the gut: she doesn’t think she deserves this. He tightens his arm around her shoulders. “You’re welcome, partner.”

Dyson holds her close, strokes gently at her hair until her breathing evens out. He may not be in love with Tamsin, but he does love her. Now if only he could convince her to love herself.


End file.
